


The Cabin

by xHaruka17x



Series: SPN Dean Bingo [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Animal Deaths, Dean - Freeform, M/M, Married Destiel Mentioned, Mind Games, Multi, Suspense, What the hell is it?, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHaruka17x/pseuds/xHaruka17x
Summary: The Impala breaks down in the middle of nowhere and Dean Winchester has to find refuge from the rainstorm. A mysterious cabin in the woods will forever change his life.SPN Dean Bingo Challenge EntrySquare Filled: Cabin In The Woods
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Dean Bingo [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1428706
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	The Cabin

**Author's Note:**

> A very huge thank you to Diminuel for the amazing art work!!!!  
> Check out her page! http://diminuel.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you to "person on discord server who goes by Castiel and has an orange cat who's an asshole" for this idea!

  
  
A fishing trip. Why not, it had been ages since Dean and his baby brother Sam had taken a weekend, met up and caught up from their busy lives, each at the other end of the same state. Dean wasn’t too sure about Sam’s directions, and as he continued North, the skies started to turn into dark stormy grey clouds which rumbled with thunder and lightning ahead.  
  
“Fuck…”  
  
He hated how much his irritation mirrored the weather as it turned sour when he wasn’t sure exactly where the hell he was heading. As he neared the dark clouds, rain suddenly came down in sheets, completely obscuring his view no matter how fast the windshield wipers were going. The roads were winding, and Dean tried to maneuver the car to stay on the narrowing path only for the classic beauty to start sputtering.  
  
“No, no, no, no, come on Baby, don’t do this to me…” Dean pleaded as the car completely gave out. “Come on, come on,” he urged, as he tried to get the car to start back up, only for it to stutter and make exhausted sounds that made Dean growl and hit the steering wheel. “Fuck!” He sat back in defeated frustration as the rain storm started to diminish, to his relief.  
  
Dean fished in his jean pocket for his cell phone, only to clench his jaw and resist the violent urge to throw the useless thing. There was no fucking cell service, and the last gas station he saw was over thirty minutes ago. Dean shoved open the car door and jumped out as he popped the hood to try and see what was going on with his baby. The rain had calmed down to a gentle drizzle, and he took out the small flashlight he had in the glove compartment to investigate the problem.  
  
“Fuck…” He could barely see anything, but it could only be one of two possible things: the gas pump or ignition point inside the distributor. He placed the flashlight in his mouth to look at the motor, trying to mind his hands so as not to burn himself, and sighed. He couldn’t see in this little light, and it wasn’t like he could fix whatever it was right this second. Dean stood and closed the hood, and leaned against the car as he rubbed his face in irritation. He couldn’t just stay here. He sighed and turned back to the car, and made sure to lock it up tight before he started to tail it back to the damn gas station. The rain was letting up, and he felt a bit of relief that it wouldn’t be such a shitty night when the sound of rustling in the nearby wooded terrain made him stop in his tracks.  
  
Dean wasn’t an easily scared or intimidated man, however, the sound of something in the bush, just feet away in the dead of night when it was a shitty, stormy night, would raise the hair on the back of anyone’s neck. After a heated moment, he lifted up the collar of his jacket and started back down the deserted road. He walked with determination, and was annoyed with his mind for playing games with him. He just couldn’t seem to shake off the feeling of being watched.  
  
It was eerie, and the frantic bouts of wind swirling in every direction only served to obscure his vision as leaves, road dust, and pollen swirled around him. Dean marched on, and as he turned toward the curve of the road, he heard it. He stopped dead in his tracks, and tried to listen over his racing heart that thundered against his rib cage.  
  
Growling…a low and deep sound that promised death at the end of sharp fangs. Snarling followed as Dean pushed himself to move every step forward, and to ignore the hidden beast as panic and fear started to make goosebumps rise all over him, but he kept moving. He wasn't going to just stand still and be some animal beast’s dinner without at least attempting to fight or leave. He reminded himself not to run. Running meant it could and most likely would chase, and Dean would have zero chance.  
  
Dean kept his pace brisk and determined as the winds picked up once more, and then in a split second he heard a howling. As he turned to his left to gaze into the darkness of the woods, a downpour started, drenching him in seconds.  
  
“Fuck!” Dean couldn’t see anything. He was too far out in the middle of nowhere, and as he looked to his right, there in the overgrown terrain of the woods was a shabby cabin. Dean closed his eyes and sighed as he felt utterly fucked, but at this point, either the creature was gonna get him or he'd die of pneumonia or hypothermia or some shit.  
  
  


Cas would never forgive him. His sweet husband of seven years would be devastated, and the blunt urge and need to see his lover again made Dean move. He hightailed it towards the cabin, throwing caution to the insane raging winds, and bolted to the shabby excuse of a building. He felt watched, and he was pretty damn sure every move he made was being calculated by whatever had him in its sights, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he slammed himself into the wooden door that gave way under his weight. He scrambled up from the dust covered floor, shut the door with a hard shove, and pulled the nearby four foot bookshelf in front of it to keep it closed.

Dean took a step back, a moment to breath and sigh as the cabin drowned out the monsoon going on outside. He wiped at his face and turned around to look at the small one room cabin, with what looked to be a small door that led to what he guessed was the bathroom. Despite the horrific outside conditions of the cabin, the inside looked pristine, only covered in dust and spiderwebs. It was incredibly odd, and Dean raised his brows as he turned around to take it all in.

Everything looked outdated, only it was clear it had once been made with pride. As Dean walked around the room, spotting the simple mattress in the far corner by the still whole window, his boots clanked against the wooden planks, and the silence of the place felt incredibly unsettling.

A flash of lightning from the storm illuminated the room, and Dean’s eyes went wide. Across every wall, every surface in view, were arrays of symbols and sigils Dean had never seen in his life. His brows furrowed as he came closer to one of the nearest walls and attempted to trace one of the images, and flinched back as he realized they were made in blood…

“What the fuck…” His fingertips traced over his scruffy beard as his mind went wild. What the fuck hell hole had he stepped into? He was a goddamn carpenter from Lawrence, Kansas, married to his kindergarten teacher husband for the last seven years. He wasn’t some ghost hunter! Dean had never been in a situation remotely close to ‘scary’ or creepy for that matter, and this was bringing his peaceful simple life into a whirlwind of what the actual fuck.

The sudden sounds of growling and snarling made him spin back to the front door where the noises came from. Dean quickly backed up and placed the table between himself and the creature outside the door.

Lightning flashed again, and Dean wasn’t sure what the hell had just reflected in the glass but that was no animal he knew of…it was large and…a rumble of thunder sounded, and just as it crashed there were no more monstrous sounds coming from the door.

Dean took a moment to compose himself as he waited and held his breath. The beast, or whatever was out there, didn't seem to want to get inside, at least for now, and Dean had to use his reprieve wisely. He was still dressed in the drenched clothes, and he knew he had to get out of them and get them dry or he’d be in trouble. He looked around and found the tiny brick fireplace and quickly cleaned it out. He also found chopped wood next to it, ready for use, and started the fire, thankful his father had insisted on putting him in Boy Scouts when he was a kid. He quickly undressed to his boxers and set two chairs in front of the fire to start drying his clothes. He yanked the dusty blanket from the makeshift bed, and sat at the table as his mind raced.

This place was just completely _off._ It was as if it was suspended somehow. Everything was in its place, as if someone would be back and it was lived in, only the dust and cobwebs said differently. This cabin certainly didn’t mirror nor fit its outside structure and if there was one thing Dean Winchester knew, it was construction. From the outside, this cabin should be about to blow over with one strong gust of wind like the whistling ones outside now. Instead, the inside was well insulated and was damn solid, and well built to _last._

Dean glared at the room, his confusion clear as he had no idea where the hell he was and what this place held. Held seemed like the appropriate word. He tried to examine his surroundings. While the place was a bit aged, it was functional, and even with the weirdest of every surface covered with the symbols, there didn’t seem to be any personal items of any kind.

He found himself yawning as fatigue sunk into his bones. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had last heard the creature outside, but it seemed his adrenaline rush had just dropped to needing sleep. He was hungry and could feel his stomach growling, yet he knew there wasn’t anything edible and in trust, he was suddenly just too damn sleepy. Slowly he rose and went over to his clothes to turn them over before he shuffled over to the mattress. Dean laid himself down and groaned. He missed his memory foam at home…where his adorable husband was. He missed Cas like a sharp pain, and he wasn’t sure what to think of the eerie situation he was in. He wondered if Sam was worried yet that he hadn’t arrived.

He turned on the lump of a mattress and felt something beneath the poor excuse of a pillow. Dean flipped over the pillow and found a book. He sat up and picked it up, and once he uncovered it, he realized he was looking at some sort of journal.

He blew the dust from the cover and coughed as it flew up into a cloud. Dean quickly noticed what seemed to be dried blood splattered over its cover. He glanced back around the room at the multiple sigils and symbols, and looked back at the journal and wondered if the blood had come from the same source. At least it wasn’t fresh blood. This kinda looked like paint and it made it a bit easier for the carpenter to pretend it was so, and he opened the journal.

The handwriting was a neat yet bold cursive. There was a month and day date at the top of each new entry, yet no year. Dean skimmed through the entries, finding the beginning ones to be of basic everyday occurrences, from having first moved into the cabin to the owner’s attempt at making the small surrounding land a healthy farm. There was enthusiasm in the writer’s daily notes, in the joy they had felt when their tomatoes and carrots had started to grow, and then amusement in the few chickens that they kept in the coop out back. The few weeks of the owner’s new beginnings seemed positive and Dean found himself smiling as the writer talked about the mishaps of the single roaster who liked to chase rabbits from the vegetable gardens. There were talks about the few goats and the small pig family adjusting, and thinking of getting himself a cow.

It wasn’t until Dean reached day 36 that things seemed to change. The owner spoke of how he had gone to plow the small field and had come across a strange rock with odd carvings etched into it. The writer had attempted to sketch out the rock in the lower half of the page…Dean’s eyes went wide as he looked at the carefully drawn rock and its markings, and then he looked around the room. The rock was covered in the same sigils and symbols as the entirety of the cabin. The owner had written their wonder about the symbols and their meanings, yet hadn’t seemed to be able to figure them out.

As Dean continued to read on, the handwriting itself had started to change. It was rushed and a bit erratic as the pages went on. Things around the farm had taken a seriously sinister turn.

Day 40: Lost five chickens…all butchered and left scattered across the coop’s yard.

Day 43: Roaster is missing.

Day 49: There’s something in the woods…

Day 53: I haven’t slept, there’s noises…not normal…

Day 57: Something is here…

Day 59: I woke up with marks all over me! I can feel it… the noises… the whispers…

Day 60: HELP ME

Day 61: It won’t let me leave! All the animals have been butchered! Strung up in the trees around the cabin. There’s laughter at night, and I know it’s laughing at me! It keeps me here!

Day 65: It’s evil! I tried to leave, and every trail in the woods circled me right back here!

Day 66: NOOOOOOO DON’T LISTEN DON’T LISTEN TO IT

GET OUT RUN MUST RUN

Dean’s eyes were glued to the entries as the writing turned into rants and illegible squiggles that abruptly stopped, and as he felt the panic and sheer fear coming from the writer, he realized that the last few pages hadn’t been written with ink…but with blood instead.

The entries stopped after day sixty-six, and there was an array of the symbols hastily scribbled all over the remaining empty pages. There was no information nor inclination as to what those symbols meant, but Dean assumed they somehow ‘protected’ against whatever monster had been tormenting the owner of the cabin. Why else would someone label every inch of their home with creepy symbols?

_SLAM!_

The sudden and loud sound of something hitting the side of the house had Dean up from the bed in an instant. A piercing and inhumane laugh echoed outside, clear and crisp over the continuous thundering rain that still raged outside, and Dean’s heart leaped into his throat as a coal settled into his stomach. Dean dropped the journal on the bed, and as quietly as he could stepped over towards his clothes. They were just about dry, which confused him. He must have spent hours reading the journal, but he was sure it hadn’t been all that long for his clothes to be dry already.

A keening and shrieking sound came from just outside the front door, and the carpenter snapped out of his clouded confusion and rushed to dress himself. The creature, or monster, or whatever the fuck was outside the cabin slammed itself against the door once more, and Dean watched in horror as the bookcase he had moved to secure it moved a sliver. Dean rushed to tie his boots and don his jacket as he heard the sounds of something heavy being dragged across the front ramshackle excuse of a porch.

_“Dean…”_

The carpenter’s eyes went wide as fear filled him…that was his husband’s voice, Cas’s voice. How??....

_“Dean, open the door.”_

No. No, no, no, Cas wasn’t here, this was a trick. Dean placed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes tightly as he tried to stay clear minded. How could that monster even know about Cas or how he sounded?  
Flashes of the journal’s bold and erratic rants came back to his mind and the words ‘don’t listen’ rang through his head as he tried to concentrate. The monster outside continued to bait him with his lover’s voice. No. No. No.

A deafening and resounding knock came from the door then, the pressure in Dean’s head threatening to shatter.

_“Dean?”_

No! Now it was sounding like Sam…fuck, he had to get out of there!

_“Open the door, everything is okay. We found the car.”_

Dean’s heart was racing, coming close to the dangerous chance that it would explode from panic. This wasn’t his husband outside, it wasn’t his brother outside, it was some kind of evil creature that wanted him. For what, Dean wasn’t sure, but as he looked around the room, at the blood etched symbols and sigils everywhere, he couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck had happened to the writer of the journal, the owner of this deserted and cursed cabin in the woods.

Laughter came from outside, followed by screams of what sounded like hundreds of inhumane things wailing and growling. Dean backed up against the furthest wall, and slid down until his ass hit the floor. He had never been so scared in his life. He was going to die out here, a victim of some mysterious backwater woods, and meet the devil. He wondered if they would find his body…he wondered if Cas would miss him…if he and Sam would even care if he was suddenly gone…

_“Dean…”_

They didn’t need him. He was just an asshole that could make things. He wasn’t smart or wealthy. Cas could do better, and Sam, well, Sam had his own life with his wife, and it wasn’t like they were close…

_“Open the door.”_

Dean’s mind swirled with his insecurities and his self loathing lies as the creature continued to call out to him until it slammed itself against the door once more. The sound was mighty and broke Dean’s clouded despair once more. Dean growled out in frustration as he shook his head, wanting to stay clear minded as he yelled and roared “NO!!!” in reply to the creature.

Dean was heaving as he tried to catch his breath after he had released his pent up anger and fear in that scream, and suddenly everything was eerily silent. Even the rain and the winds seemed to have suddenly stopped on a spinning dime, and Dean shuffled up to his feet and made it to the window by the bed. Raindrops decorated everything in sight, yet the rainfall itself had indeed stopped abruptly. Dean held his breath as minutes ticked by, and then the warm orange and pink rays of the morning sun slowly started to creep through the dense woods, casually caressing and illuminating the whole field and the cabin in its sunlight.

Dean swirled around in the cabin. The heaviness of the darkness of the night had somehow evaporated, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. Dean shoved the book shelf to the side, closed his eyes, counted to three, and bolted out of the cabin door.

He skipped right over the rotting porch and took off as fast as he could through the field, and headed west towards the road and the gas station. Dean didn’t stop running until he hit the dirt road, and continued on towards the paved road until he had to stop and take a breath. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees as he took in a deep breath, one after another. His legs felt numb, and his muscles screamed in exhaustion as the adrenaline left him feeling heavy as lead. He looked up as he gasped in more air, and saw the gas station he had passed last night. He made himself move and headed towards the place. He couldn’t be sure if the monster had followed him, and if it had, it seemed to want to stay in the woods. Dean made sure to stay in the middle of the damn road as the sun started to beam down on him.

There were a few vehicles at the station, and Dean wandered into the air conditioned cool air of the small convenience store attached to the garage.

The conversation with the gas station attendant was a blur. The only bits of the convo Dean had been able to retain was that two other people had had car problems during the storm last night, and that the tow truck driver would be back soon to help him.

Dean downed two bottles of water and a sandwich that was debatable, but he couldn’t care about food poisoning when he was so hungry.

Soon enough, the tow truck showed up. The ride back to the Impala had Dean feeling antsy in the passenger seat. As they passed the field where the cabin now stood in daylight, the eeriness of its lonely presence made Dean clench his jaw. “What do you know about that place?”

The burly driver looked over at him and shook his head. “Not much in the way of truths. Rumors of all kinds surround that place. The last owner just disappeared a few years back. Folks in town stay clear of the place, though. They like to gossip and say a monster lives in the woods near it.” The trucker snorted. “The place has been condemned for years. Some schmuck apparently bought it recently, and there’s talk about the old cabin getting torn down. No idea what they’ll do with the land, though.”

“Huh,” was all Dean could bring himself to say.

“There’s a lot of evil around this cabin. Unexplained shit. People gone missing, or coming out of the woods screaming about a monster. It’s just crazy. Not the place for anyone’s car to break down,” the trucker went on, as they came to a stop by Dean’s Impala. “Alright, let’s get this beauty of a car back on the road. Where were you headed?”

“Um..” It took a moment for Dean to bring himself back to the present, his mind still going through the terror of a few hours ago. “A fishing trip with my brother.”

“Nice.” The burly man went about fixing up the Impala. Dean was too lost in his thoughts to pay attention to anything he was doing, and instead unlocked the car and sat in the driver’s seat, soaking in the familiar smell of leather and the perfect way the seat hugged him as he leaned back into it.

Dean picked up his discarded cell phone, amazed to find it still with some battery life. It vibrated in his hand, and his eyebrows shot up as he saw the multiple missed calls and texts glaring up at him. However, what made the hairs on his arms rise was the time and date his phone announced. If he believed it, it meant he had missed days and not mere hours in that cabin...

Dean jolted as the truck driver slammed down the Impala's hood. “You’re all set, brotha!”

“Um, thanks, man. How much do I owe you?” Dean scrambled out of the car.

The burly man assessed him for a moment before he looked away and then back at him with understanding and something else in those dark hazel eyes. “Look, you look as spooked as a squirrel.” The man rubbed at his face before he regarded him once more. “The flatwoods monster, a shadow person, a ningen, the ozark howler, a pukwudgie, the list goes on and on about what people see or hear when they are close to that cabin. Just don’t worry about what you own me. Just do us both a favor, don’t ever pass through here again. That place has evil in and around it. Was nice meeting you, brotha, but let’s never meet again.“

Dean eyed the man warily, yet nodded and watched as the burly man jumped back into his truck, the old and faded company words saying ‘Benny’s Towing’ in yellow. He watched the tow truck make a U-turn and Dean slid back into his driver’s seat. He started the Impala, and relief flooded him as the roaring sound of the engine came to life. Dean hightailed it out of town, making sure to call his worried husband and brother. He would have to come up with some excuse for his time lapse…because he couldn’t and wouldn’t voice what had happened in the cabin in the woods.

**END**


End file.
